


Habit

by ashinan



Series: Sleep verse [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wonders if he can explain two plus two to Tony in more complicated terms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habit

**Author's Note:**

> Third part of the sleep verse gift set for [-lazarus](http://-lazarus.tumblr.com/)!

Steve wonders, at one point, when finding Tony half asleep and practically incoherent on the couch had become a habit. It’s surprising, because Steve’s seen Tony’s bedroom, noticed the king sized bed and the ridiculous amount of plump pillows. But he had also noted the neatly tucked corners and the lack of indents. His own bed had suffered through his tossing and turning, and he was sure any day now, he would wear a hole through it until he fell through the bottom.

But, as had become his routine, Steve finds himself downstairs at just past two, bypassing the bright light in the living room to pad into the kitchen. He retrieves two water bottles, removes the empty tumbler, and slides the whiskey bottle into the cupboard above the fridge, too high for Tony to reach without finding other means. When he makes his way into the living room, he stops short of the couch to watch Tony work.

Sometimes, when he arrives too late, or even too early, Tony will be curled up in the middle of the couch, face slack with sleep and eyes shifting lightly beneath his eyelids. There is always strain there, though, along his forehead and mouth that never goes away, even when Tony is so exhausted he’ll practically be falling over himself. When this happens, Steve will sit there, fingers itching to sketch, to draw the beauty that is encompassed in Tony’s still features. Instead, he will call for Tony to come back to him, to talk to him until the shadows fade from Tony’s eyes and he’s curled against Steve’s shoulder, mouth open and fingers tapping against Steve’s arm.

When Steve finds himself downstairs at the right time, for the right reason (like now), Tony will be working. The tablets and wireless laptops and cellular devices litter the couch like cast aside soldiers, left to perish unless Tony finds a new use for them. Steve will watch his fingers, watch the way they shift and slide, twitching with that silent beat that seems to drum inside Tony’s head. Murmurs will escape him, soft and unheard, numbers and calculations and ridiculous accusations that only make sense in the world that Tony has lost himself in. Steve will watch until Tony starts to slide forward, eyelids barely open, and he’ll sit down beside him, letting himself be used as a sounding board and as a pillow.

Tonight, Tony is stretched out on the couch, tapping away on a tablet and muttering to himself. He’s frowning, cursing, and sits up straight with a barely repressed shout.

“Are you serious? Jarvis, this can’t be correct; correlations between the two experiments proved fruitful and now they’re backing down and that _doesn’t make sense_. Are you hearing me; I want you to call them, as soon as you can, and tell them they’re _wrong_ , so wrong, beyond wrong, what are these schematics even _made from_?” Tony vents. Steve smiles to himself and pushes away from the wall.

“Sir, the schematics were sent to you after your recommendations to change the variables. They were done to your specifications,” Jarvis replies, calm and slightly exasperated.

“I call bullshit. Bull. Shit.” Tony is throwing aside phones and laptops, searching a large stack of papers. “The parameters no longer make sense, and why would they assume the logic is no longer sound? It’s me! Logic is always sound around me; stop it, Jarvis, I can hear you laughing. This, right here, is going to cost me far too much time. We need this, Jarvis, we needed this made last week, when we had to fight Doom and his ridiculous legion of Doomy Doom bots on that island of Doom infested Doomdom. I’m already wasting time by sleeping every night and now with this setback, I won’t be able to sleep _at all_.”

Steve sighs, reaching over the couch to poke at Tony’s shoulder. “Perhaps if you left some of it up to the rest of us, you wouldn’t have to worry so much about sleep patterns.”

“Stebe!” Tony’s voice is muffled, a tablet between his teeth and three blueprints taking up his hands. His next words are too garbled for Steve to make out.

“Tony, what did I tell you about putting things in your mouth when you want to talk?” Steve reaches out and tugs the blueprints from Tony’s hands, shaking his head when Tony makes slight grabbing motions, before removing the tablet from between his lips.

He grins up at Steve. “Keep it to the bedroom?”

Steve feels his ears flush and fights to keep his smile away. He moves around to the other side of the couch, sitting down with a laugh. “ _No_. You need to stop taking on so much. You’re wearing yourself out.”

“Yeah, no, not so much.” Tony reaches over him, grabs a water bottle and downs half of it. “Do you see these schematics, Steve? It’s for a new jet, something for the entire team to enjoy, and really, I don’t understand how some of you can stand being trapped on the ground. Flying is _amazing_ , look at my repulsors, those things are legendary, and they were supposed to be part of the jet I was making but then the idiots in engineering decided to throw in not enough variables and too much imagination and suddenly I’m stuck with _this_. What even is this?” Tony unfolds the prints in Steve’s hands, pushing in close so he can point out everything that is wrong with it. Steve catches himself watching the side of Tony’s face more than the schematics Tony is raving about. “And this, right here, doesn’t even compute. The equation itself is far-fetched and I realize, I do, that they want to impress me with big numbers and even bigger ideas, but we don’t even have technology that would match what they’re saying. Well, I mean, I could probably make it _for myself_ , but that’s all it would be, would be for myself and not them because that’s what the Iron Man suit is for and I really think –”

“Tony!” Steve laughs, finding himself with a near lapful of venting Tony Stark. The blush is biting at his cheeks and he tries carefully to push Tony back to his side of the couch, or at least further away from his half interested cock. Tony fights him and continues to point and gesture and nearly smacks Steve in the face.

Steve tries again, “Tony, I realize you’re upset over the blueprints for this, but it’s incredibly late and you _should be sleeping_. I don’t care if you think the jet needed to be done and ready by yesterday, wearing yourself down isn’t going to help much.”

Frowning, Tony turns to face him. Their cheeks brush, lips almost touching and Steve feels the full force of his blush heat up his face. Tony blinks at him, shrugs, and pulls the blueprints from Steve’s hands.

“Well, the jet _should_ have been made yesterday. It gets difficult carting around you, Natasha, Bruce and Clint. I will tell you now, Rogers, I am no taxi, air or not.” Tony folds up the schematics and frowns at him. “Wait, why did you come down this time?”

Steve worries, sometimes, that Tony doesn’t truly understand what is happening between them. That, perhaps, Steve is the only one that has really put two and two together and gotten four. Knowing Tony, he’s probably created an elaborate logarithm to explain the presence of Steve and his never-ending bouts of insomnia, and arrived at the completely wrong conclusion. Even if Tony is convinced his math is _always right_ , sometimes Steve wonders if those calculations ever actually pertain to human interaction.

He doubts it.

“I don’t have to sleep as much as you,” Steve deflects, smiling. Tony narrows his eyes, fingers tap-tapping against his thigh before he shrugs.

“Well, I don’t understand how you can burn yourself out staying down here with me. Watch some television, or better yet, make some food. I’ll join you in the kitchen.”

Steve hates to admit it, but he would much rather sit on the couch with Tony, waiting for the telltale signs of sleep to wash over his features. It seems now that the only time Steve can find true rest is when Tony is pressed up against him, mouth muttering and fingers drawing warmth from his skin. It’s horrible on his denial, even worse on his patience, but it gets him a night’s rest that he wouldn’t be finding in the confines of his bedroom upstairs.

“Let’s not. Just – why don’t you tell me how you plan to fix the jet?” Steve knows it was the right thing to say when Tony’s eyes light up and he begins to gesture, wild and not truly all there.

By the time Tony’s rant is tapering off, he’s practically sitting in Steve’s lap, nose pressed to the underside of Steve’s chin and fingers curled up tight against Steve’s abdomen. Steve carefully arranges him more comfortably when Tony finally goes quiet, eyelids flickering as he snuggles in closer.

“Steve?” Tony calls. Steve hums and lets his arms drape around Tony’s waist. “Steve, I just wanted to say thanks. You’re an outlier and it’s nice. Thanks.”

Steve stays quiet and wonders if he can explain the concept of two plus two to Tony in more complicated terms. 


End file.
